


Speaking of the dying

by apolesen



Category: Doctor Who: Eighth Doctor Adventures - Various Authors
Genre: EDA: Camera Obscura, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-09
Updated: 2011-08-09
Packaged: 2017-10-22 10:57:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/237340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apolesen/pseuds/apolesen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the unimaginable seems to be happening, Anji finally talks to Fitz.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Speaking of the dying

The stillness of a dying man’s breath had fallen over the flat. The metaphor was morbid, but horrifically appropriate, Anji thought as she left the even stiller TARDIS and stepped into the rented apartment. As she passed through the rooms, she caught a glimpse of herself in one of the many mirrors; a swirl of red cloth and a weary face half-turned away from the viewer, as if ashamed at the toll the vigil had taken on it.

She had scarcely thought it possible, but when she entered the living-room and spotted him at the window, she concluded that Fitz looked worse. If his swollen eyes were proof of anything, he had been crying, but she guessed that sleep-deprivation could be behind it. What was more worrying was how perfectly motionless he was, as if he did not seem to notice her approach, or indeed the cigarette which was about to burn his fingers. He simply stared blankly out of the window, the life on the street starkly in contrast to the silence in the flat.

‘Hey.’ He looked up, startled, then realised who was standing beside him.

‘Hey,’ he muttered, stubbed out the cigarette in a near-by ash-tray and then promptly lit a new one. For once she did not scold him because of it; right now she could not bring herself to care if it would make the room stink. ‘Any change?’ he asked when his ministrations were done.

‘No,’ Anji sighed. Before all this Fitz would probably have sworn at this point; now he just exhaled exasperatedly and sucked at the cigarette. She could tell that he was thinking of the Doctor, lying motionless in the TARDIS. The following question still startled her.

‘He’s really dying, isn’t he?’ It came out choked, as if part of him did not want to ask.

‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘Yes.’ There was no mistaking that the Doctor was dying - he had not been well even before the accident, and it was a far-fetched miracle that he was still alive, as the doctors at the hospital had said before they had taken him back to the TARDIS - but despite that, she was not certain if the Doctor was about to die. She had never thought that the two concepts were disassociated from each other, and she did not dare to ask Fitz if he thought so too. That she was not certain if the Doctor was even breathing was only bearable as she thought that she might be wrong. She did not want to hear it from anyone else.

She pushed the thought aside and watched Fitz instead. He was still looking out into the street without watching it. His suit was crumpled and his hair was in disarray. Searching for the expression to describe the state he was in, she settled on “in pieces”. Fitz Kreiner was in pieces, even if he was trying to hide it, not by draping it in disinterest but in a lighter form of worry.

Anji had really not meant to ask, but suddenly she found herself addressing him.

‘Fitz...’

‘Mm?’

‘Can I ask something?’ Fitz shrugged, probably not listening. She turned so that her back was against the window and she could stare into the ceiling. ‘You and the Doctor... is there... eum, something going on?’

He looked up sharply, and she cursed herself silently.

‘What is that supposed to mean?’ _Wonderful, I’ve insulted him_ , she thought. He was not from a particularly tolerant part of history, after all - she had half expected him to scream at her that he wasn’t some kind of queer. But the fierceness drained away from him suddenly, as if worry had weakened his responses, and he looked down. ‘Yes,’ he said, very quietly. She bit her lip.

‘I’m sorry.’ She was not certain over what; that she had asked or that he had to see this happen to his... what, exactly? She could not quite see the Doctor being anyone’s boyfriend. Something made her doubt if even he knew what to call him; the Doctor tended to be difficult to define.

Fitz turned and leaned against the glass as well, half perching on the window-sill and crossing his arms over his chest, so that they stood beside each other, mirroring each other’s poses. This small mark of solidarity gave her the feeling that he wanted to talk. She tried to catch his eye in an attempt to instill calm in him, but he resolutely looked away. Getting men to talk about feelings was not easy, and Fitz was particularly good at getting on her nerves. Even if she was not angry with him at the moment, it was not easy to have a heart-felt conversation with him.

They were silent a long time, during which Anji studied the ceiling and Fitz rolled an unlit cigarette over his fingers. At last he grasped it, and she looked back at him, adopting the kind of listening stance she guessed would be termed a particularly female thing by anyone who believed in such things. It took a few moments more, and Fitz pulled his hand through his hair in despair.

‘Shit.’ For a breath he looked like all he felt was distress. Then his hand fell and he looked down. ‘He doesn’t remember.’ She looked sharply up.

‘He doesn’t? No...’ But he was nodding. ‘When did it...?’

‘Before he lost his memory. After Sam...’ He trailed off.

‘Why haven’t you told him?’

‘I... I don’t know,’ he admitted, rubbing his eyes. ‘He doesn’t like being reminded of things he’s forgotten. I want him to remember it himself.’

‘But it’s been so long...’

‘Well, none of it matters now, does it?’ Fitz said. The sound of tears was unmistakable in his voice. He sighed again and swallowed. ‘He’ll never know now.’

‘Just because he doesn’t remember doesn’t mean he doesn’t knows,’ Anji tried.

‘Same difference,’ he snorted.

‘Well, I noticed it,’ she answered. He seemed to consider this point.

‘How _did_ you notice it?’

‘He flirts with you,’ she said with a shrug. ‘You honestly can’t keep your eyes off him. You dote on him - trust him implicitly, which is frankly a bit surprising as most of the time he seems not to know what he’s actually doing. And after I ruled out that he was some kind of father-figure, well...’

‘I had no idea it was so obvious,’ Fitz said, and she was glad to see that he was smiling, albeit bitterly.

‘So, when did it start? I mean, the build-up...’ Had she not been holding this discussion about a dying man, she would have found her own tip-toeing funny. Now it felt a little unfeeling to discuss the Doctor, but she knew that was her being oversensitive, and it was nice to remember that he had not always been like he was now, pale, unconscious and possibly not breathing.

‘To be honest, I think it all started the first time I met him,’ Fitz admitted. ‘He was so odd. Turned up there with that half-dead flower... There was something already then.’ He looked away. ‘What he did afterwards didn’t really give me a high opinion of him, but... it didn’t really ruin that first impression.’

‘Of a complete loonie?’ she supplied, and they both laughed, the sound a welcome relief. It dispersed when they both remembered the situation they were in. They were silent again, and Anji noticed Fitz chewing his lip vigorously to control his inner turmoil. Then suddenly he said:

‘Anji?’

‘Yeah?’

‘Can I...?’ The rest got lost as he swallowed to keep his voice steady. It took her a moment to realise that he was asking if he could confide in her.

‘Of course,’ she said quickly. ‘Please.’ She could not say she was entirely comfortable with this tête-à-tête, but by the looks of it, Fitz needed it, and perhaps it would make her feel less helpless.

‘I... I wish...’ He trailed off, as if he was not quite able to voice his thoughts. The next attempt was just a gulp. When he finally managed to speak, it was hushed and rushed. ‘I wish I could kiss him. But I can’t bear it.’ She looked at him in horror, not because of what he had just said, but because she realised that also he was doubting that the Doctor was really breathing. His confession made her feel petty, because it seemed to her that Fitz stood to lose more than she did. She tried not to imagine Fitz bending down to kiss the Doctor’s cold lips, only to recoil at the deathly stillness of them.

Then a yet worse thought than the Doctor’s current state struck her.

‘What’ll happen to the TARDIS, if...?’ Obviously Fitz had not thought of this before.

‘I guess... I think it’ll die too,’ he said. ‘It died for him once. They’re connected. And even if it doesn’t...’

‘...We can’t pilot it. We won’t be able to get home.’ Fitz looked away.

‘I don’t really have a home,’ he said. ‘With the Doctor gone...’ Anji bit her lip, thinking of the people she might never see and the things she might never experience again. She tried to imagine living like she had for the last few weeks for the rest of her life, in a time where she could never be a true part of society. She would always be seen as a curiosity, only half accepted and never listened to.

‘If that happens, we’ll stick together, won’t we?’ she said, surprising even herself. Fitz looked at her, brow furrowed, as if he had to consider if it was a good idea. She could not blame him - imagining life without the Doctor was difficult, and there was little knowing what such solitude would do to them. Still it calmed her that when he answered, she could not hear him hesitate.

‘Of course.’ She took his hand briefly, both to shake on it and to assure him. He squeezed it in reply and then broke the contact, their heart-to-heart over. ‘Let’s go see how he’s doing,’ Fitz said and nodded towards the interior of the flat, where the TARDIS was parked. She willingly followed, feeling a little less alone in facing the stillness of the bedside.


End file.
